Finally & Forever (20 page)

Katie nodded, even though no one was there to see her affirmation. Or maybe there was. God’s Spirit felt close. Covering her, guiding her, protecting her like the guardian angel on the top of the Jeep in Adam’s drawing. She looked around the empty room, half expecting to see a translucent angel feather floating in the air. She was going to stop and type a response, but there was more to Christy’s email.

Katie leaned back in the office chair and thought about Christy’s scenario of the helpful, supportive wife of a youth pastor. Yes, she agreed, things were just right for Christy and Todd.

But we’re not them. Eli and I are wired differently. Life isn’t like that here. At all. Eli and I aren’t like Todd and Christy. We’re not that couple. We’re not like Rick and Nicole. We’re us. The thing is, the way we’re headed, will there be an “us” at the end of this short trail?

Katie set to work, typing as fast as she could to answer Christy while everything was fresh in her mind. She was nearly to the end of her email when Cheryl opened the door of the office and entered with a cheery “Jambo.”

Katie minimized the screen so the unfinished email wouldn’t show and turned to greet Cheryl with an equally cheery “Jambo,
rafiki
.”

“Oh, good! You remembered the word for ‘friend.’ Are you ready for your next Swahili word of the day?”

“Bring it on.” Katie enjoyed the lessons both Cheryl and Jim had been giving her during the past week. Katie wanted to surprise Eli when he returned and greet him with at least one complete sentence in Swahili.

“Okay, here it is.
Wapi choo?
”

“Wapi choo,” Katie repeated. “So what did I just say?”

“You asked, ‘Where’s the bathroom?’”

Katie laughed. “I’m sure that will be very helpful at some point, but you do remember that I’m trying to learn something that I can say to Eli when he gets back. I’m thinking that ‘Wapi choo’ isn’t exactly going to make his heart soar with joy over my accomplishment.”

Cheryl slid into the chair at her desk. “Okay. You’re right. Here’s a good line for greeting someone who is special to you:
Napenda kukuona mpenzi wangu ni furaha ya moyo mangu
.”

“No, not gonna happen. That sounded really pretty coming from you, but you’ve noticed what a slow learner I am. Can you give me something in between ‘Where’s the toilet?’ and ‘Napa wapa snapa mango’?”

Cheryl laughed. “You do know, Katie, that you should be careful when you try to make up your own Swahili words. One of these days you’re going to manage to say something dreadful.”

“Okay, so give me another line. Something shorter. But wait. What did that greeting for someone special mean? Maybe we can shorten that.”

“It’s very sweet. It means, ‘I love to see you, my dear. You are the joy of my heart.’”

“Ohh.” Katie melted just a little. “That is sweet. But I don’t think I could say that to Eli. He would think I was joking. I need something not as sugary, you know? Something that’s more true to who I am and what he would know is really coming from me.”

“I’ll give that some thought,” Cheryl said. “By the way, did Mary catch you at breakfast?”

“No, I didn’t go to breakfast. What did she want?”

“The group that’s staying here this week for the writer’s conference is going to Lake Naivasha tomorrow, since it’s their final day. She wondered if you could go along as their guide since Eli isn’t here.”

“Guide? How could I be their guide? I’ve never been to that lake. I don’t know anything about it.” She didn’t want to be diverted from all she was trying to accomplish in the office and wasn’t sure why Mary would think Katie was a natural replacement for Eli on a tour.

“
Guide
is the wrong word,” Cheryl said. “Basically, she just needs a representative from Brockhurst to do a head count and to call the office if any problems develop. You would be the point person, that’s all. I didn’t mean for it to sound as if you had to be a tour guide. Lake Naivasha is beautiful. Last time we were there, we watched the hippos come up from the water at sunset. It was quite a sight.”

Katie liked the way this diversion was beginning to sound. “All I’d have to do is ride along and check names off the list as people get on and off the bus? I wouldn’t have to give everyone the history and scientific facts of each location the way Eli does?”

“No. You don’t have to try to do it Eli’s way. You’ll also have to settle the bill with the restaurant where they’ve set up a lunch for the group. It’s all been arranged through the Brockhurst main office. As you know, we used to have a tour company — in this office, as a matter of fact. Now that they’ve moved out, Mary is trying to juggle a few of these promotional tours that were booked before the tour company relocated in Nairobi.”

“I can do that,” Katie said. “I can ride along, count noses, and hand over a check. I’ll go talk to Mary about it.” Katie quickly clicked on her screen and ended her email to Christy midsentence with a couple of dashes and a final line that read,
Gotta go see a lady about some hippos
.

She hit Send, closed her email, and scurried out the door. Katie almost felt guilty for feeling so happy about the opportunity to see the hippos. If she was missing Eli dreadfully, as she was, then shouldn’t she be so depressed that nothing, not even wild hippopotami, would float her boat like this?

Note to self:
Ask Christy if she thinks it’s possible to befalling in love with a place and a person at the same time, and if so, that’s not cheating, is it?

L
oading up the tour bus with the group of writers and publishers felt familiar to Katie, because it was the same bus and driver that had taken the Texas group to the giraffe reserve almost a month earlier. Katie didn’t remember the driver’s name, but he remembered her, and when she climbed on board, he greeted her by saying, “Jambo,
Ekundu
.”

Katie had no idea what the “Ekundu” meant, but she hoped it was flattering or at least pleasant. She responded with, “Jambo, rafiki.”

The driver seemed to like her calling him “friend.”

Remembering how Eli had taken the microphone and welcomed everyone last time, Katie followed suit. “Jambo! How’s everyone doing? My name is Katie. I’m your unofficial guide today. So if you have any questions, I can pretty much guarantee that I won’t be able to answer them.”

She received a sea of blank stares. Katie was aware this was an international group, but she had dined with them all week and knew that English was the common language. So she tried to ramp up the enthusiasm. “Are you guys ready to see the hippos at Lake Naranja?”

“Naivasha,” one of the African women in the front seat across from Katie said, quietly correcting her. “We’re going to Lake Naivasha.”

“Right. Yes. Lake Naivasha. Not Naranja.
Naranja
means orange in Spanish, and I know that because I’m from California, and my friend had a surfboard he named Naranja because it was orange.”
Katie could tell by the expressions changing before her eyes that she was tottering way off track.

“Okay, but enough about my friends and me. This trip today is all about you and your friends. So please sit back and enjoy the bumpy ride. Although I am happy to say that our rafiki here behind the wheel is known for providing his passengers with a much smoother ride than you’ll get in any of those white shuttle buses.”

The group seemed to have reconnected with her on that comment, and she guessed that arriving at Brockhurst had been the same sort of experience for them as it had been for Katie and Eli.

“So, if you were hoping that our ride today was going to be just like what you experienced in those vicious, vibrating vehicles, I hate to disappoint you, but there are no free African massages on this bus.”

Two of the men from the Philippines let out a cheer from midway back. Katie had met one of them at lunch earlier that week and appreciated his lighthearted spirit and engaging smile.

“Thank you for that affirmation there, Ramon. Keep those cheers coming. I need all the encouragement I can get. In case you hadn’t guessed, this is my first day on the job.”

Ramon and the guy next to him let out a lively shout of “
Mabuhay!
”

“Whoa!” Katie said a little too loudly into the microphone. “And what does that mean? Because if it means “Please sit down and stop talking, Katie,” then you’ll just have to be straight-up with me on that, because I don’t speak Filipino.”

“It means ‘long life,’ “ Ramon called out.

The guy next to him cheered again. “Mabuhay!”

This time everyone in the bus echoed the cheer.

Katie thrust her arm in the air. “All right! We’ve got us a party bus goin’ on here. Woo-hoo! Mabuhay!” She held the microphone out like a lead singer at a rock concert inviting the audience to sing back their favorite lyrics to the song.

The gang complied and cheered, “Mabuhay!” into the microphone.

On the backside of the group cheer, a polished-looking gentleman sitting up admirably straight two rows back filled the air with his cultural version of the cheer and added,
“Viva! Viva!”

Katie remembered that he was a publisher from France, because when she sat by him at breakfast the first morning the group arrived, she was fascinated with the flowing conversation he was having with some of the West African publishers who spoke French. She didn’t understand a single word, but it was beautiful to sit with them and feel as if her ears were tasting a smorgasbord of brand-new sounds.

Her ears were filled once again with the same sort of intercultural buffet of words as everyone on the bus let out a holler in his or her native language. The lovely cacophony brought smiles to everyone’s face, as Katie once again held out the microphone to catch their cheers.

All right! Not bad. My work here is done
.

Katie took her seat as the lively atmosphere pervaded the bus. She felt pretty good about the way she had helped to bolster the energy level.

Now
,
what if the UN took that approach to every summit meeting? If people from around the world took the time to laugh together, I can’t help but think that world peace would break out
.

She took the same seat alone in the front behind the driver as Eli had and pulled out the notes in her folder, the same way she remembered Eli had. The schedule indicated that they should arrive at the Lake Naivasha resort at 11:30. They would have their lunch first and then walk through the wildlife preserve area to the lake. Katie was assigned to herd everyone back to the tour bus by 2:30. Once everyone was on board, they would head for Brockhurst and be back in plenty of time for the evening meal.

Seemed easy enough.

As the bus rumbled down the road that led to Nairobi, Katie realized she recognized some of the turnouts along the way. That realization gave her a surprising sort of happiness. It reminded her of the feeling she had when she moved into the dorms at Rancho, found her way into town to the Dove’s Nest Café, and then managed to drive
back to campus without getting lost or making a wrong turn. That meant she was home — and that she knew how to find her way back home.

“Katie?” The African woman in the row across from Katie who had corrected her on the pronunciation of Naivasha leaned over. “You’re Eli’s Katie, aren’t you?”

“Eli’s Katie?”

The woman extended her hand, as if she had forgotten her manners and should have introduced herself first. “I’m Ngokabi. I’ve known the Lorenzos for a long time. I heard about you last year.” She touched her hand to her straight black hair and pointed to Katie. “I knew it had to be you because of the red hair. Ekundu.”

“Is that what the driver called me, Ekundu?”

Ngokabi nodded. She was a lovely young woman with high cheekbones and a narrow chin. She reminded Katie of some of the athletes from Rancho who looked as if their arms and legs were built for running.

“Ekundu means ‘red,’ “ Ngokabi said. “He meant it as a nickname. Do you mind it?”

“No, I like it. Ekundu.” Katie pointed at Ngokabi and said, “What does your name mean?”

“It’s traditional from my family. It means ‘Daughter of the Masai.’ It’s an honor for me to have this name, because it is the same name as my father’s firstborn sister.”

Katie wasn’t sure why that would be such an honor.

“You see, with the tribes in Kenya, we have a progression for names. I am the third daughter, so the third daughter is named after the father’s firstborn sister. If I had been a boy, I would be named for my father’s firstborn brother.”

“So your name was decided before you were even born.”

The woman next to Ngokabi said, “Is that not how it is with all of us who have been called by God? He knew our name and every hair on our head before we took our first breath.”

Katie thought about that point as Ngokabi went on to explain that forty-two tribes lived in Kenya, and the woman next to her was from the Kikuyu tribe. Her facial features, a broad forehead and a rounder face, were different from Ngokabi’s.

“My namesake was a much-loved woman,” Ngokabi said. “She taught a women’s Bible study for twelve years, and now the publishing house I work with in Nairobi is producing her material. It’s exciting to see her hard work live on even after she is gone.”

Their conversation continued the rest of the ride to Lake Naivasha. Even though Katie hadn’t intended to return to the opening question of “Are you Eli’s Katie?” the subject somehow did a swooping circle, and there it was in front of them once again for Katie to confirm or deny.

She tried to choose her words carefully. “I suppose you could say that. Yes, I’m Eli’s Katie. We’re going together. But he’s in a village now and has been for almost a week and a half. We have a lot to figure out. It seems we have very different career paths.” Katie realized her head was bobbing, as if she were trying to convince herself of what she had just said. All of it. Did they have different career paths? Really? That sounded so western when she heard herself say it.

And was she really “Eli’s Katie”? Is that how he had referred to her, or was Ngokabi taking something she had heard from Eli and giving it her own spin? Katie wondered if it was okay to say that they were “going together.” Was that their own code for their relationship, or was that how Eli had referred to her?

All the uncertainties weighed on her in a disagreeable way. Katie was glad that Ngokabi didn’t probe the topic or offer insights. She didn’t even seem particularly interested in how Katie was sorting out her relationship with Eli. It seemed as if Ngokabi had just stated a determined fact, the way her name had been chosen for her before she was born.

When the bus driver pulled into the tree-filled area marked with a large sign for Lake Naivasha, Katie felt ready to stretch her legs, grab some lunch, and see those hippos.

“All right, rafikis, we are here. The hippos of Lake Naivasha await us. Let me give you a rundown of the plan for our lovely afternoon, just in case you didn’t catch these details earlier. When you disembark, be sure to tell our driver what a great job he did.”

Everyone clapped. Ngokabi said something to the driver as he was turning off the motor, and he gave a wave in the large rearview mirror.

“Okay.” Katie motioned for everyone to stop clapping and stay in their seats one more moment. “So here’s the plan. We’re having lunch first. You can meander your way into the restaurant, and you’ll find a separate room that has been prepared for our group. My notes say it’s a cookout, and you can go through the buffet line as many times as you like.”

“Mabuhay!”

“I thought you’d like that, Ramon.”

A wave of chuckles and chatter rose.

“Now, wait, let me make sure everyone knows that we must be back to the bus by two thirty at the very latest. We’ll eat, walk down to the river, try not to be eaten by the hippos, and then find our way back here by two thirty. Got that?”

A variety of responses resounded as the group rose and made its way past Katie and out the door. She felt like a flight attendant, nodding, smiling, and giving a few playful “Buh-bys” to some in the group.

She gave a little salute to the bus driver and brought up the rear as the meandering group stopped for photos in front of the Lake Naivasha sign and made their way toward the restaurant that was well marked in English. This resort was different from the one she had stopped at with Eli’s parents in Aberdare. That one had been traditionally British in its architecture and furnishings. This one was African in style, and Katie loved the carved wood and wild animal print fabric on the chairs.

It took her a little while to remember that she had completed her job when she gave everyone the information and escorted them off the
bus. She didn’t need to shepherd them around or check in on them. In a way, this felt like summer camp, and she was the camp counselor.

That thought made Katie smile. It was almost as if one of her small, forgotten dreams had come true. In high school she had dearly wanted to be a camp counselor, but her parents had put their foot down, saying she wasn’t allowed to keep the commitment she had made to her youth pastor. Christy ended up going in her place, and Katie was befuddled to this day as to why her parents, who showed such little care, concern, or involvement in many areas of her life, had been against her going to camp.

It was one of those inexplicable things about her family that she knew she would never grasp. Another mysterious thing she didn’t understand was the way her parents had responded when she called them a few days after she had arrived in Kenya and explained how she planned to stay indefinitely.

Her mother had said, “I can see it.”

That was all. Just, “I can see it.” Katie hadn’t known if she should take that as a jab, as if her mother were saying that their impulsive, odd little child had run off to Africa on the heels of college graduation — no surprise there. It was so opposite of anything anyone in Katie’s extended family would have done that it must have seemed like this was something Katie would do.

Her father said he wanted her to send him an elephant tusk. Then he laughed as if he had made a great joke.

Katie knew she should never hope to receive her parents’ approval and blessing on something she did. But to her surprise, after she had given her mother her mailing address during the phone call, Katie received a graduation card from her in the mail along with a twenty-dollar bill. The handwritten note was short. “I meant to give this card to you at your graduation, but your father forgot to remind me, and I left it in the car. I don’t know if the Africans can cash American money, but maybe you can use it there somehow. Your father and I are proud of you. Please be safe.”

The card had arrived early in Katie’s stay, when she and Eli were spending lots of time together and everything felt buoyant and new. The card and her mother’s handwritten message hadn’t meant much to her then.

As she sat in the exotic restaurant at Lake Naivasha at a table with writers from the Czech Republic and Bulgaria who were busy talking about publishing, Katie ate her papaya and pineapple starter salad and thought of how, in essence, she had received the blessing she had longed for. She never told Eli about the card; she wished she could tell him now. Her parents, in the best way they knew how, had told her, “We’re proud of you. Be safe.” That was huge. How did she miss the significance of that? Katie felt warmed inside in an unexpected way. Getting away from Brockhurst and the Lorenzos for the day was giving her a chance to back up and see other facets of her life.

Joining the others from her table, Katie went outside the main eating area to where the barbecues were smoking like crazy and three chefs in spotless white jackets and tall chef hats stood ready to carve the meat that was roasting on the spit. Katie picked up a plate and followed Sasa, a publisher from Prague, as they scooped up ugali, rice, and mixed vegetables from large serving trays. When they got to the meat, Sasa asked what it was.